


The Only Gay Guy at the Wedding

by BroodingSoul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot, Weddings, bumbling stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 19:34:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1869768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroodingSoul/pseuds/BroodingSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is the only gay guy at Scott and Allison's wedding.  And then he meets Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Gay Guy at the Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when I got home from a wedding where--surprise--I was the only gay guy at the wedding. So basically, I Mary Sue'd myself a fic. IT'S WHAT WE DO.
> 
> Thanks to Vendelin and Hannah for their beta work!

"This time we're gonna get funky.  Everybody clap your hands!"

Out on the dance floor, the attendees of Scott and Allison's wedding burst into rhythmic applause.  Stiles stands by the bar, watching his friends dance in the middle of the crowd.  Scott dances with typical Scott abandon as Allison looks on, laughing, her eyes bright and shiny.  Isaac and Erica looked like they belong on the dance floor, their movements fluid and synchronized with each other, even if they are just sliding to the left and the right.  Stiles imagines them doing a tango and then quickly tries to think of something else.  Jackson, surprisingly, has no rhythm whatsoever.  He mostly bounces back and forth on his feet as Lydia dances around him, twirling and laughing.

Stiles is happy for Scott and Allison.  He really is.  And normally he'd be out on the dance floor with his friends, dancing in that special Stiles way he dances, but for right now he just wants to take a moment by himself, drink his beer, and be lost in thought.

"You don't dance?"

Stiles snaps out of his daze and looks toward the direction of the voice: two seats down, coming from a hunk of burning something or another.  Tan skin.  Green eyes--are they green?  Or hazel?  It's hard to tell.  Black hair.  The kind of stubble that takes Stiles a month to grow.  A broad frame packed into a charcoal gray suit over a crisp white shirt with no tie.

Stiles' Adam's apple bobs up and down as he takes it all in.  He swigs his beer to cover it up before replying.

"No.  I mean, no I do.  I mean, yes, I dance, but I'm sitting this one out.  I'm not down for the Cha-Cha Slide.  Any songs that tells me how I should move is not the song for me.  Stiles dances to his own beat."  Stiles grins, attempting to mask the embarrassment of referring to himself in the third person.

The man's eyebrows shoot up.  "Stiles?" he asks.

"Short for Stilinski," Stiles replies.  "My last name."

"And your first…?"

"Is a name that will linger on no person's lips."

The man's lips twitch into a faint smile and somehow his eyes become golden.  Stiles focuses on keep his knees from buckling.  The man reaches out a hand toward Stiles.

"I'm Derek.  Hale."  Stiles shakes his hand and marvels at how his own hand disappears inside Derek's.  Stiles' fingers are long but they're spindly.  Derek's hand is strong, his handshake firm.  Stiles imagines each of Derek's fingers doing their own little bench presses to stay in shape.

Stiles also imagines that when Derek pulls his hand back, his fingers linger across Stiles' palm a little too long.  But Stiles did always have a wild imagination.

"So, Derek Hale.  What brings you to the wide wonderful world that is Scott and Allison's wedding?"  Stiles attempts a drink, only to find that his bottle is empty.  Derek motions to the bartender, holds up two fingers.

"I came to see the beautiful couple get married."  Derek smirks, his eyebrow cocked.  The bartender sets two beers down in front of Derek.  He slides one over to Stiles, whose eyes are lidded with sarcasm.

"Cute."  Stiles tilts his beer toward Derek as a thank you, then takes a swig.  "I mean," he continues, "why are you here?  Who do you know that brings you to see the beautiful couple get married?"

Derek tilts his beer toward Stiles and takes a drink.  "My family knows Allison's family," he answers.  "Or did.  They have history.  I was the only member of my family who could come, so I don't really know anybody here."

"Then why did you come?"

"They invited us.  It would have been rude not to accept."  Derek's smirk grows wider.  Stiles tries not to notice the way his corner of his eyes crinkle when Derek smiles.  He grips his beer bottle harder, takes another pull.  Derek slides over, bridging the gap between him and Stiles, keeping just one barstool between the two of them.

"How long have you known Scott?" Derek asks.

"What makes you think I know Scott?" Stiles tosses back.

"The tux kind of gave it away," Derek says, reaching out and tugging on the lapel of Stiles' heather gray tux that Stiles completely forgot he was wearing.  "Also, I attended the wedding, so I kind of saw you be the best man."

Stiles tries to will away the blush that's creeping up his neck, flushing his cheeks.  "I was being the best best man any man could possibly ask for," he sputters.

"You were," Derek laughs.  "You walked down the aisle and everything.  Hardly tripped at all."

"The shoes are a size too big, it wasn't my fault!" Stiles protests, lifting up his foot for emphasis.  "And Lydia is so short!  Her strides are shorter than mine and I couldn't figure out how to keep pace with her.  Let's see you walk down a wedding aisle with too-big shoes and a too-short maid of honor!"  Stiles punctuates his point with an emphatic pull from his bottle.  The movement causes the beer inside to shake and start foaming.  Unfortunately, Stiles doesn't realize this and the beer foams into and then immediately out of his mouth.  He coughs and sputters as Derek raises an amused eyebrow and the bartender hands Stiles a napkin.

"I probably deserved that," Stiles mutters as he wipes his mouth and dabs at a couple of spots of foamy beer on his tux.

"A little bit," Derek grins.  "But you're cute when you spaz out, so it's okay."

Stiles's eyebrows shoot up so high they practically go into orbit.  He wants to pick up on that comment but years of rejection and improperly functioning gaydar cause him to hesitate.  He shoves the beer bottle in his mouth to keep from saying anything and then realizes he actually needs to drink the beer for that to look natural, otherwise it just looks like he's giving head to a hoppy pale ale.  He finishes off the beer and sets it down on the bar.

"Why aren't you dancing?" Stiles asks Derek.  Maybe Stiles can suss out if Derek actually was hitting on him.

"I don't know anyone here, remember?" Derek replies, a hint of "um, duh" leaking into his voice.

Stiles purses his lips, nods thoughtfully.  "Right, we covered that," he murmurs.  Well hell, that didn't work.

"Besides," Derek continues, "dancing at weddings always seems like a bit of a letdown.  I mean--"

"I was just thinking that!" Stiles exclaims.  Derek's eyebrows twitch at the outburst, but he doesn't seem put off by the interruption.  "Like, I was just standing here and thinking, 'Gosh, it sure would be nice if I were dancing in that crowd full of my friends, but it would just be a let down.'  Why is that, man?"

"It's fun until a slow dance starts up--" Derek begins.

"Exactly."

"--and there aren't any guys to dance with." Derek finishes.

If Stiles were in a movie, this would be the point on the soundtrack where the record screeched.  "You're…?" he trails off.

"I'm…" Derek nods coyly by way of answer.  He gestures to the dance floor.  "So normal dancing might be fun, but the slow dancing…"

"…is a bit of a letdown.  Exactly," Stiles says quietly.  He moves closer to Derek, taking up the barstool between them.  With nothing between them, Stiles can smell Derek's cologne.  It's a little woody, a little citrus-y, a little boozy somehow.  Not like beer, but something spicier like rum, maybe.  He takes a second to breathe it in while Derek is still staring at the dance floor, looking surprisingly melancholy.

"Do you want a drink?" Stiles asks.  "It's on me."

Derek turns back to Stiles, a wry smile on his lips.  "Isn't it an open bar?"

"Well yeah, if you want all the beer you can drink," Stiles retorts.  "But I've got an in with Phil if you want something else."  He gestures to the bartender.  Behind the bar, Phil rolls his eyes.

"Your 'in' with the bartender," Phil says, "is that you gave me two mini-bottles of Cognac and asked me to 'keep them safe.'"

"And did you?" Stiles questions.

"Yes."

"Then I've got an in with the bartender, don't I?  Two shots of cognac, barkeep!"  Phil sighs, exasperated, but pulls the mini-bottles of Cognac out from the cooler behind the bar, grabs two shot glasses, and places it all in front of Stiles.

"Do you need me to pour them for you?" Phil deadpans.

"Nah, I got it," Stiles replies, oblivious to Phil's tone.  He turns to Derek and waggles his eyebrows.  "Cognac?" he offers.  Derek suppresses a smile.

"Sure."

Stiles opens a bottle, pours it into a shot glass, and slides it toward Derek.  Derek nods his gratitude.  Stiles repeats the process with his own shot, then lifts it in Derek's direction.

"To being the only gay guys at the wedding," Stiles toasts.

Derek laughs, raises his shot.  "To being the only gay guys at the wedding," he repeats.  The pair clink shot glasses, tap them on the bar, and toss them back.  Derek swallows his smoothly.  Stiles makes a face as the liquor burns down his throat.

"S’good," he says, feeling the heat of the brandy travel down his chest and into his stomach.

Derek chuckles, softly.  Out on the dance floor, the lights dim as the music segues into a slow song.  Couples pair up on the dance floor, some who came together and some who met at the wedding.  Stiles smiles, a hint of melancholy twitching at the corner of his lips.

Before Stiles can register what's happening, Derek leans in so closely that Stiles can't tell exactly what is tickling his ear, Derek's stubble or the words Derek murmurs.

"Would you like to dance?"

Stiles doesn't trust his voice not to squeak, so he nods instead.  Derek's hand takes Stiles' elbow, trails down to his wrist, encircling it and leading Stiles to the dance floor.  The center of the dance floor, to be exact, where Scott and Allison would be dancing if they weren't too busy canoodling at their table.

Derek pulls Stiles into him, placing his left hand on Stiles' back and clasping Stiles' left hand with his right.  They begin to dance.  Stiles tries to let Derek lead him like this, but it feels unnatural, backwards.  His shoes slip on the parquet floor.

"You okay?" Derek asks, eyebrows questioning.  "It can't be because I'm too short.  Must be your too-big shoes."

"Haha, smartass," Stiles counters.  "It's just--I'm not used to being led.  It's a little disorienting."

"Oh.  Well, how about this?"  Derek brings Stiles' hand up to his other shoulder, then places both hands on Stiles' waist.  Stiles' hands automatically slide up so they're resting on Derek's neck, his thumbs grazing the thick, coarse hair at the nape.  Derek locks eyes with Stiles.  Green.  They're definitely green.  "Better?"

"Much," Stiles breathes.  Derek's lips twitch into a smirk.  It's dim on the dance floor, but this close to Derek, Stiles can see every hair in his scruff.  It frames Derek's mouth perfectly, mesmerizingly, and now all Stiles can think is what it would feel like to have Derek's mouth on his own, all soft lips and prickly skin.  As though he were reading Stiles' mind, Derek purses his lips, and Stiles can feel the blush slide up his face again.  Derek smiles.

"What are you thinking about?" Derek asks.

"Guam," Stiles says automatically, and then mentally kicks himself in his own ass.  Guam?  All of the other lies he could come up with and the first thing that pops into his head is Guam?

"Guam?" Derek arches an eyebrow.

"Well, I-I mean," Stiles stutters, gesturing to the rest of the reception, "winter weddings are beautiful and all but, y'know, it's cold.  And you know where it's not cold?  Guam.  I hear Guam is very nice this time of the year.  It's down there being all…"

"…Guam," Derek completes with a smirk.

"Exactly."  Stiles winces.  He might actually kick his own ass the first chance he gets, because really?  Guam?

Derek pulls Stiles into him, wrapping his arms around Stiles waist.  Their cheeks rest against each other.  "I was thinking," Derek's voice practically a sigh, "that this is nice."

Stiles is right about how Derek's stubble would feel against his own skin.  It's scratchy but smooth and it feels amazing.  Stiles wraps his arms tighter across Derek's shoulders. His fingers continue to stroke the hair on the nape of Derek's neck, and Derek is right.  This does feel nice.  Stiles closes his eyes and he and Derek shuffle slowly around the dance floor.

The last few notes of the song begin to play out.  Derek pulls back.

"Stiles."

"Derek.

"Can I--"  Derek doesn't finish his sentence.  He leans forward.  Stiles feels his pulse quicken.  He's not trying to feel sorry for himself, but in 23 years nobody who looks like Derek has ever wanted to kiss him, and Stiles is pretty sure that's what's about to happen.  He closes his eyes, waits, can sense Derek getting closer-- 

"Yo, Stiles, where'd you go?  I need my best man!"  Scott's voice rings out in the banquet hall.  Startled, Stiles lets go of Derek turns in the direction of Scott's voice.  Derek's mouth lands clumsily somewhere on Stiles' jaw.  Derek pulls back and lets go of Stiles.  Stiles glances back and can't register the look on Derek's face.  If he has to hazard a guess, Stiles would say it lands somewhere around disappointed and maybe a little embarrassed.  Stiles doesn't even try to imagine what his own face looks like.

"I'm, um…being beckoned," Stiles chuckles uncomfortably, silently cursing Scott's entire existence.  Derek takes a step back.

"Of course," he replies, somewhat tersely.  "Go be the best best man you can be."

"Stiles!" Scott shouts again.  Stiles jerks his head toward the bridal party table where Scott, Allison, Lydia, Isaac, and Erica have congregated.  Scott waves Stiles over.  Stiles nods.

"I'll see you later?" Stiles asks.  He turns back toward Derek, but Derek is already walking back to the bar.

Stiles hustles over to Scott.  "What do you need, man?"

"I need my bro-sef!"  Scott slings an arm across Stiles' shoulders and pulls him in closer.  His face is flushed, his pupils large.  Stiles looks at Isaac and Jackson.

"How much champagne has he had?"

"Not enough, Stiles!"  Scott grabs a half-empty champagne flute from the table and downs it.  Allison giggles next to him, her eyes wide and glassy as well.  She tugs on Scott's hand.

"Scott, let's go…" she sneaks a glance around the group, "…y'know…"

"They wanna do it," Jackson huffs.  Allison's face turns crimson red as Lydia smacks Jackson on the arm.

"A little tact, perhaps?" Lydia chirps. Lydia turns to Stiles.  "Scott and Allison have decided that they would like to leave the reception and head up to their room."

"Cuz they wanna do it," Isaac echoes Jackson.  He turns to Erica to defend himself only to get smacked by Lydia.

Stiles shoots a glance to the bar, where Derek it looks like Derek is finishing up his beer.  "I'm pretty sure you guys have that down," Stiles says to Scott and Allison.  "I mean, it's not like its your first time.  And there are a lot of things I'll do for you, man, as your best man and best friend, but I'm not helping you insert tab A into slot B."  This time Lydia and Erica lash hands out and Stiles finds himself getting smacked in the back of the head and slugged in the shoulder.  He's honestly not sure who did what.  He just wishes someone would get to the point so he can get back to Derek.

"We wanted to know if you did the thing," Erica whispers, leaning in so that Scott and Allison don't hear.

"With the room and the flowers and the roses and the romance?" Lydia adds.

"Right, the thing, the thing that I totally did right when we got here because I am the best best man, so if Scott and Allison suddenly snuck off without telling anyone, as they are right now," Stiles points to the newlyweds who are already across the room, giddily ducking under the archway in front of the door, "the room would be ready.  Now, if you don't mind, I need to grab something from the bar."

"Bring me back a beer," Jackson demands.

"I will do no such thing!" Stiles tosses back, halfway to the bar.  His heart sinks when he sees Phil standing behind an empty bar.  Stiles searches the room for Derek but doesn't see him anywhere.

"Hey Phil, do you remember that guy I was talking to earlier?" Stiles asks Phil once he reaches the bar.

"And you are?" Phil asks derisively, wiping down beer mugs.

Stiles takes a deep breath.  "Come on Phil, work with me.  I think Derek and I were about to have a moment and then I got pulled away, but I really want to have that moment with him.  I need to have that moment with him.  Do you know how long it's been since I've had a moment with anyone?  I was a freshman in college and it was my roommate and we were playing video games and okay, yeah, I might have been a little drunk but he was too, and I thought there was a moment and I said a thing and he laughed and then we kissed, but then a week later he told me he was switching rooms because he thought I was weird and, long story short, that's how I got a single room my freshman year and also the last time I had a moment," Stiles takes another deep breath, "and I swear to God if you keep me from having another moment with someone, especially someone as hot as that piece, I will follow you to every wedding you work and regale you with the story of the time you kept me from getting some, and also  asking you to _Phil_ my drink.  Do you get it?  Do you get it, Phil?   _Do you get the joke?_ "  Stiles stops, inhales, and tries to catch his breath.  “Your move.”

Phil arches an eyebrow.  "He said 'Thanks for the beer,' and tipped me a twenty."

"And then?"

"He tipped me a twenty…" Phil trails off.

"Are you friggin' kidding me?" Stiles mutters to himself.  He takes out his wallet, and rifles through it.  "I've got a ten and a punch card for a free fro-yo."  He tosses them both on the bar in front of Phil.  "He thanked you for the beer, tipped you a twenty, and then what?"

"He said he was going home, and he left."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

“Listen Phil, I’m gonna ask you a thing and you’re gonna answer it, okay?”  Phil just rolls his eyes, but nods in agreement.  “Which way did he go?”

Phil puts his rag down on the bar and leans in close.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Stiles, and you’re, like, 2 years older than I am, so let’s drop the whole ‘kid’ thing, okay?” Stiles answers.

“Listen, Stiles.”  Phil gestures for Stiles to lean in with him, as though he’s about to impart a big secret about Derek.  Stiles leans in, his breath caught in his throat.  There’s a pause, and Phil finally clears his throat.

“There are exactly four doors in this room,” he says, derision creeping into his voice.  “Three of them are employee entrances and one of them is the main door to the ballroom.  Which way do you think he went?”  Phil straightens back up, grabs his rag, and continues wiping down the bar, leaving Stiles bent over the bar, feeling like an idiot.

“You’ve been a peach, Phil,” he retorts snidely.  Before Phil can reply, Stiles snatches the fro-yo card off the bar.  “And I’m taking this free fro-yo back.  You don’t deserve it.”

Phil snags the $10 bill off the bar.  “Ten dollars will buy at least three fro-yos.  Good luck trying to get some.”

Phil’s comeback is lost in the noise of the dance floor as Stiles pushes his way through to the ballroom’s entrance.  He bursts through the double doors, half expecting to see Derek’s retreating form at the end of the hallway, but there’s no one to be found except for a couple of wedding attendees coming back from the bathroom.  They give Stiles a strange look, and he just smiles and nods at them as though everything were okay.

“How you guys doin’?  You having fun?  Eat some cake, it’s delicious.  Raspberry filling.”  He holds the door open for them as they scurry inside, eager to either try the cake or get away from Stiles.

Stiles lets the door swing shut as he hurries down the hallway.  He tries to remember which way the parking lot is located, but he himself has had a fair amount of champagne.  He turns left and breathes a sigh of relief as the hotel lobby comes into sight.

“Hey, did you see a guy walk through here a little bit ago?” he asks the person behind the front counter, who’s leafing through a tabloid and looking bored.  “Tall, dark, and handsome?  Nice suit?  Great eyes, like green or gold, or both?”  The desk attendant just points out the front door and turns back to her celebrity gossip.

“Thanks,” Stiles says, and races through the front door and out to the hotel’s driveway.  He scans the parking lot and sees Derek, off in the distance, headed toward a black Camaro in the corner of the parking lot.

“Derek!” Stiles shouts.  The other man turns and looks around, puzzled, as Stiles runs toward him.  Derek finally sees Stiles’ approaching form and seems to let out a frustrated sigh.

“You just left,” Stiles accuses breathlessly once he reaches Derek.  “I looked for you, and you were just gone.  Where’d you go, dude?”  Derek opens his mouth to reply, but Stiles just keeps going.  “I mean, I know where you went because I found you, but why?”

Derek swipes a hand down his face, scratches absently at his scruff.  Stiles remembers what it felt like on his cheek—can still feel what it feels like—and just wants to rub his cheek against Derek’s again.

“The moment was broken and I just figured it would be better if I went,” Derek finally says.  “You were with your friends and I don’t really know anyone here, so I figured I’d just go and not have to worry about being the awkward third wheel.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”  Derek’s eyes grow wide at Stiles’ outburst.  Stiles sputters, trying to get the thoughts in his head to calm down long enough to pull out one coherent thought.

“Stiles, use your words,” Derek mutters.  Stiles hisses and makes a gesture with his hand for Derek to zip it shut.

“What makes you think I don’t feel like an awkward third wheel?” he’s finally able to ask.  “Or fifth wheel, or seventh, or ninth, or—“

“What do you mean?” Derek interrupts, breaking Stiles out of his numerical rant.

“I mean that it’s absolute shit being the lone gay guy in a group of friends,” Stiles continues.  He exhales, his nerve leaving his body as quickly as his words leave his mouth.  “You said it yourself!” Stiles exclaims.  “How it feels to be at a celebration of love, and seeing all your friends coupled off, and all you can do is stand there and feel so incredibly lonely because you’re the only gay guy at the wedding?  It.  Sucks.”

Having run out of steam, Stiles slumps against Derek’s Camaro.  The two stand in silence, the quietness of the night punctuated only by the occasional wedding guest sneaking out for a smoke.  A random couple—man and woman—walk outside, arm in arm, barely able to keep their hands off of each other.  Derek takes it in as they kiss against their car before climbing in and driving off.  He sighs and joins Stiles leaning against the Camaro.

“I know,” he finally says quietly.  “It feels awful.”

“When I realized you were gay,” Stiles replies, “it was like…I don’t know.  For the first time, it felt like I could actually enjoy the festivities.  Like, I know it’s Scott and Allison’s wedding and it really has nothing to do with me, but I thought...okay, finally.  Now I can feel what all these people are feeling.”

More silence.  Stiles becomes aware of Derek edging closer to him until they’re leaning side by side against the car, their shoulders brushing.  He looks down when he feels Derek’s hand nudging at his own, strong fingers intertwining with his own slender, nimble digits.

“I was glad when I met you,” Derek murmurs, staring out into the night.  “It was unexpected.  I was just filling familial duty, so I wasn’t exactly enjoying myself.  And then I met this cute guy at the bar—“

“Yeah, Phil is kind of attractive,” Stiles interjects.  “For an asshole.”

Derek sighs.  “Stiles…” he intones with exasperation, but with a hint of fondness in his voice.  He turns to face Stiles, but before he can say anything more, Stiles wraps his arms around Derek.  Taken back at first, Derek returns the embrace, pulling Stiles in closer.  The two hold each other tightly.  Stiles tucks his face into the crook of Derek’s neck and breathes in.  Derek smells crisp and earthy, cologne and perspiration and whiskey, and Stiles knows that anytime he smells the combination in the future, he’ll be pulled back to this moment.

He pulls out of the hug and looks at Derek, his amber eyes searching the other man’s face for something.

“What?” Derek wonders.

“What were you going to ask me before Scott so rudely interrupted us?” Stiles asks.

Derek bites back a smile before admitting, “I was going to ask if I could kiss you.”

“Ask me again.”  Stiles’ heart beats faster as he watches Derek’s eyes flit all over him, taking him in, before he finally opens his mouth.

“Stiles,” he says, his whispered voice barely audible.  “Can I kiss you?”

Stiles nods, not trusting his voice to remain steady as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with anticipation.

Derek takes a step forward and Stiles closes his eyes.  A second passes before he feels Derek running a hand up Stiles’ arm and skimming over his neck before finally cupping Stiles’ cheek.  Stiles’ breath hitches in, and that’s when Derek’s lips find purchase.

The kiss is soft at first.  Light and airy, almost as if nothing is happening at all.  Slowly, Stiles slides his hand up Derek’s neck and lightly grips his hair, pressing his mouth into Derek’s, and the kiss turns into something slow and plaintive, almost as if Derek is searching for something more in the kiss than a simple, physical connection.  Derek turns his head in the opposite direction and when Stiles gasps at the feel of Derek’s scruff against his mouth, he gasps.  Derek takes the advantage to slip his tongue into Stiles’ open mouth, gently searching for Stiles’ tongue.  Regaining his composure, Stiles pushes back with his tongue, and he feels a sigh of contentment escape Derek’s mouth.

When they pull away, it feels like an eternity has passed instead of just two or three minutes.  Stiles is breathless and Derek’s face looks ruddy, and somewhere in the back of Stiles’ brain he takes note of how attractive Derek is when his face is flushed.  Derek is the first one to break the silence.

“I don’t know if you’re just looking for tonight, or…” Derek trails off, waiting for Stiles to finish the sentence for him, and looking helpless when Stiles doesn’t.  Stiles tries to hide a grin, waiting for Derek to say it.

“Or?” Stiles questions, purposefully obtuse.

Derek grits his teeth even as a smile breaks out across his face.  For a second, Stiles is completely captivated by how wide and earnest Derek’s smile is, how his eyes crinkle up in the corners, and Stiles just really, really wants to memorize his face and all the ways it moves.

“Or if you might want to get a drink some time,” Derek finishes.  Unable to suppress it any longer, Stiles lets loose his grin.

“Like a date?” he asks.

Derek nods.  “Like a date.”

“I think,” Stiles says, shuffling closer to Derek, “that is something I can do.”  He leans forward and chastely pecks Derek’s lips, looking somewhat embarrassed by his own boldness.  Derek wraps him in another embrace.

“Good,” he says into Stiles’ ear, sending shivers down Stiles’ spine.  “Good.”

***

Out on the dance floor, Derek has his arms around Stiles’ waist as Stiles plays with the curls at the base of Derek’s neck.  They sway back and forth, gazing into each other’s eyes, not paying attention to anything around them.

“Stiles,” Derek says.

Stiles smiles.  “Derek.”

Derek leans in, but before they can kiss, they’re interrupted by Scott.

“Yo, Stiles, where’d you go?  They need the grooms!”

Stiles and Derek roll their eyes in unison.  Stiles pulls away from Derek and tugs at his husband’s lapels, smoothing them out, as Derek straightens Stiles’ bow tie.

As Scott pulls up to them, Derek leans in and mutters, “We really need to figure out how to keep him from interrupting us.”

“At least this time when you run away from me, I know I can find you in the hotel room.”  Stiles turns and says loud enough for Scott to hear, “Hopefully someone did the thing with the room and the flowers and the roses and the romance.”

Scott’s face breaks into a grin.  “What kind of best man would I be if I didn’t take care of my best man?” he says, clapping Stiles on the shoulder.  “Come on, they need you guys to cut the cake.”  Scott scampers off toward the cake table where the rest of the wedding party is waiting.  Jackson, of course, looks bored and dashing in his tux.  Derek’s sister Laura is conferring with Lydia, her co-maid of honor, on the best way to get all of the gifts packed up and back to Derek and Stiles’ loft after the couple leave for their honeymoon.  Erica is whispering something into Isaac’s ear and laughing, and Allison and Cora, Derek’s other sister, are cooing over Cora’s engagement ring.

Derek wraps his arms around Stiles from behind and murmurs, “How’s it feel not to be the only gay guy at the wedding?”

Stiles feels like his heart is going to burst as he grins and replies, “What do you say we make it no gay guys at the wedding?”  Derek nuzzles into Stiles’ neck by way of reply, nipping at his earbud.

Stiles holds his composure long enough to shout over to the bar, “Hey Phil, can we get that bottle of champagne?!”  At the bar, Phil scowls, but pulls a bottle of Dom Perignon from the cooler and places it on the bar.

“You’re aces, Phil.  Aces!” Stiles continues, before turning to Scott.  “Hey Scott, make sure Phil gets a good tip.  And cut the cake yourself!”  With that, he grabs Derek’s hand and they head for the exit, grabbing the bottle of champagne along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on the Tumbl machine! I'm BroodingSoul there, too! Quelle suprise!


End file.
